The truthful scars
by emily.robbins.313
Summary: John is fed-up with no food or milk in the refrigerator. Sherlock is rather tact-less and suggests that John go and get some instead of complaining. This causes John a bit of annoyance in which he asks "Why can't you be nice and do something for me!". This hurts Sherlock as he always tries to do something for John, and he's already done so much. Johnlock.
1. Sherlock's scars

John stood bored, looking into the refrigerator. "No food, no _drinkable_ milk; only a bag of eyes," he sighed, "Perfect."

"Why don't you just go get some?" Sherlock asked in a croaky voice he hadn't used for two days. He coughed, bringing his hand to his soft, yet dry, lips and continued reading the morning paper. "It's more productive than complaining."

"Sherlock, why can't you be nice and _do something for me_?!" Sherlock put down his paper and his eyes seemed to melt. He closed his eyes and turned away, John saw the hurt he caused Sherlock but didn't quite understand why. "Sherlock-?"

"I think I'm going to finish reading in my bedroom. There's… There's something… suspicious about this article. I need… I need to think." He heaved himself out of his chair with a slightly pained sigh. He still hadn't quite recovered from the past two years.

"Sherlock, wait!" John commanded. John grabbed Sherlock's arm, but was careful not to hurt him.

"John, I want to go to my bedroom…" Sherlock tried to get away from John; he didn't want to talk. John slipped and had to grab hold of Sherlock's shirt to avoid letting him slip away without an explanation.

"Sherlock… What's the matter?" John asked with genuine concern. He looked at Sherlock with his soft, clear eyes.

"John, let go…" he struggled, but John kept holding on to the shirt, "let go!" As Sherlock strongly pulled away, there was a loud ripping sound and two halves of Sherlock's black silk shirt fell to the ground.

John stared at Sherlock and saw a multitude of scars that covered his very thin body like stars in the enigma of the night sky. The one that was clearest, that was freshest, was the scar from the bullet wound Mary had given him. Sherlock was catatonic, like a deer in a car's headlights. His eyes were wide and his breathing fast and shallow.

"Oh… Sherlock," John stepped closer to his best friend. As soon as Sherlock heard John's concerned words, he quickly ducked down, with a small groan of pain, and grabbed his torn shirt and attempted to cover his scars. He tried to say something but he just couldn't. Sherlock walked briskly into his room. John could only stare after him.

After a few minutes he could only just bring himself to whisper, "Sherlock… I'm sorry."

Sherlock lay on his bed, shirtless, still as a corpse. A silver tear dropped from his eye and stained the black and navy blanket on his bed. Sherlock held the blanket close to him, hoping for a sense of security, but it gave him no such feeling. He cried. He had never cried quite so hard before, except, maybe, about Redbeard; it was a mystery to him why he was crying so hard now. It could have been because he was in pain, it could have been because John couldn't even say anything to try and make him feel just a little better, or it could have been the realisation that John either didn't know of his sacrifices or just didn't care.

A floorboard groaned near the door and Sherlock turned to see John staring at him dumb-founded.

"Oh, John!" Sherlock quickly wiped the tears from his eyes, "I… Um… I didn't… didn't-"

"Sherlock…" John lowered himself on to the edge of Sherlock's bed, "You can talk to me. You know that, right?" John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Can I ask you a question?" Sherlock asked as the tears started to flow from his eyes, yet again.

"Come on, Sherlock; I've never seen you like this before," John's eyes started to water.

"No one except Mycroft has; savour it," John's face distorted to an unsettled expression.

"Why would I want to 'savour it'?"

"Because you don't care about me and the things I've done for you…" Sherlock looked into John's tear-filled eyes, "My question is… Why?"

"What?"

"I've done lots for you, John. And you still want more." Sherlock hugged his blanket closer to his chest, feeling exposed, "I jumped of a roof for you, I got shot for you, pulled you out of a fire, killed for you and much more. What do I have to do?"

John shuffled himself closer to Sherlock and lowered his blanket. He moved his hand to the other side of Sherlock, leaning on it. He took a deep breath and passionately kissed Sherlock's tender, seductive lips.

"Sorry… I couldn't help myself…" John apologised.

"Wha- What?" Sherlock was confused, a feeling he didn't often have.

"I love you, Sherlock. I always have," John looked at Sherlock hopefully, "Do you feel the same?"

"What… What about Mary?"

"We aren't technically married…"

"I know; she entered under a false name, meaning the marriage is void. But… She loves you John and, murdering and shooting me aside, she's a nice girl. I don't want you to hurt her…" John looked down at the bed clothes, disappointed, and then back into Sherlock's eyes, "Don't think that it's you. Believe me; I've dreamed of this moment a thousand times, though I've never answered 'no'."

"You've dreamed about it?" John's heart melted. He loved Sherlock dearly, he didn't want to stay 'just friends' for a second longer. He lovingly put his hands either side of Sherlock's face, looked deep into his eyes and told him the truth, "I'm not sure I love Mary; but I know I love you."

"I… I…" Sherlock stammered. He could not say what he wanted to say; he just didn't know how. So he kissed John on the cheek and smiled a frail smile.

"I know what you want to say," John comforted.

"I… I'm sorry. I've never been able to say it; never felt the need to say it,"

John took Sherlock in his arms and embraced him, Sherlock's skin was warm and soft, "I'll leave her for you. I'm sure of my feelings towards you."

"So… This is happening?" Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow. It was… Unbelievable to say the least.

"Of course, Sherlock. I love you; always have." He kissed Sherlock again, but even more passionately. John reclined Sherlock softly onto the bed.

"Wait! I'm sorry John, but I just don't think I'm ready for… that sort of thing… Are you alright with that?" John stared into the distance, thinking if that was the sort of relationship he wanted. He obviously loved Sherlock and wanted a relationship with him; and he didn't feel right making Sherlock do something he was uncomfortable with just to stay with him. "John? You're… You're making me a little anxious…" Sherlock laughed a nervous laughter.

"You know what, I'm fine with that!" John smiled, surprised at his own answer.

"You are?!" Sherlock leaped up out of the bed; to John it seemed like several feet in the air, "Wonderful! Amazing! Oh my God, I just can't believe it!" Sherlock smiled a wide smile, probably the widest he ever smiled, and laughed with joy.

"I'm so glad to see you happy again," John beamed. It _was_ amazing!

"I… I don't think I've ever been this happy!" Sherlock actually looked… happy; which he hadn't for a long time.

John slowly lifted himself off of the bed and gently pulled Sherlock closer to him. Their lips reached for each other when-

"Oh! Sorry, dear! I didn't mean to disturb anything!" It was Mrs Hudson.

"Well, Mrs Hudson, as you can probably guess, John and I have decided to embark upon a… relationship." Sherlock beamed as he slipped his hand gently down to John's waist as they turned to face her.

"What about your poor wife, John!" Mrs Hudson tried to hide her slight disgust at John's infidelity.

"There's an explanation, but it's private," John tried to reason.

Mrs Hudson rolled her eyes at him and went about trying to remember the reason why she had entered Sherlock's room. "Well… each to their own, I guess, dear." She lost herself in her thoughts, "No, I simply cannot remember what I came in here for! Have a nice time, boys…"

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock called after her as she left.

"Now… Where were we?" John flirted. Sherlock chuckled a little and kissed him as passionately as he felt comfortable. John just knew that it was all the passion he really needed from Sherlock.

Suddenly, Sherlock's phone rang and vibrated slightly. Sherlock reluctantly released John from his kiss, took the phone out of his trouser pocket and glared down at it. "This better be bloody important…" he mumbled. He answered the phone and held it to his ear.

"What is it?" John sighed with a slight hint of disappointment in his voice. Something he and Sherlock had waited for years to experience and it just _had_ to be interrupted.

"Yes, Lestrade, be there soon." He turned the phone off and put it back in his pocket, "he wants us to have a look over a case. He was a little frantic; he said something about ropes, leather and blood… I couldn't quite understand him…"

John gave Sherlock a kiss on the cheek, "Why don't we go down and see what it's all about. But first, Sherlock, I think you should put a shirt on," John gently pulled Sherlock down to his level and whispered, "The purple one, I think."

Sherlock turned to his new boyfriend and winked with a surprisingly cute click of his tongue, much like when they first met. John sat on Sherlock's bed and watched Sherlock wrap the shirt around his toned body. John was content; he was in love.


	2. Lestrade and Anderson

Sherlock and John waited outside of the station; they were talking about what to do about displaying themselves.

"I say we just act truthfully; how we want to…" Sherlock suggested. John stared at Sherlock, unsure about the decision. "Or we could pretend we aren't going out…"

John stared down at Sherlock's purple shirt, "God, I've always loved that shirt on you."

Sherlock shook his head, "I don't think that plan's going to work somehow…" he sighed. "We may as well just go in and kiss in front of everybody!"

"Let's just go in, holding hands, and let them react however the hell they want! I love you Sherlock, I'm not ashamed about it anymore…" John smiled at him and Sherlock's heart warmed.

"I'm really glad. Really, really glad." Sherlock gave him a slightly lingering kiss on the lips. Gentle and tender; as always.

John took Sherlock's hand and they both smiled at each other. They strode through the doors with confidence.

Lestrade was discussing some gossip with Anderson. It was out-of-date and useless talking about; but, somehow, Anderson managed to keep him entertained with a bet.

"I'll bet you £50 that, by 2030, Watson and Holmes will get together!" Anderson announced.

"John is _married_ Anderson…" Lestrade sneered.

"Like 100% of marriages aren't shams!"

"Fine! But you're going to lose your money!" The pair shook hands, making the bet official in their eyes.

"You haven't seen what I've seen, Lestrade!"

At that moment, Sherlock and John, hand in hand, strode into the room. Lestrade took one look in their direction before announcing, "Oh, for God's sake!"

Sherlock looked at Lestrade, then at John. They were both as confused as each other. Sherlock, after a few moments, then decided to venture a guess. "You made a bet… didn't you, Lestrade!"

"C'mon give me the money!" Anderson smirked, his wallet open.

"I should have known that _he'd _have something to do with this!" John addressed.

"Anderson, you are a vile, despicable-!"

"Sherlock! Don't…" John corrected, "Actually… Go ahead!"

"No, you two! I need you to focus on this case!" Lestrade boomed, passing three currency notes in Anderson's direction. "Shall we go?"

The couple nodded. Lestrade led the way and Sherlock followed eagerly. John kept near to Sherlock, enjoying their new found closeness. When Sherlock was in this state; happy and eager, which was almost never, he seemed to have a luminescence about him which gave him the look of an angel. Sherlock was far from heavenly, as he told people often, but he was as close as someone of his situation could be. But, Sherlock's appearance made his mind focus on one question and would not allow it to go un-thought-of; "What happened that day, up on the roof that would cause Sherlock to do… What he did?" He felt the need to ask; but only after the crime-scene was finished with. He decided to ask that night and hope that Sherlock did not get too upset.

"John?" John's thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock's deep voice, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he smiled at Sherlock as they rushed to the crime scene. Sherlock tried to look like he believed John, but John knew Sherlock had seen through his lie.


	3. John's question

Sherlock and john had returned from the crime scene. John threw a box of tissues in Sherlock's direction, anticipating what might happen.

"Very funny, John!" Sherlock laughed, "You want me to get milk, boo-hoo-hoo!"

"I have to ask you something…" John sighed, dreading the response, "Is that alright?"

Sherlock nodded. He looked down at himself, _'What is he going to ask? There's so much he could ask that I'm not sure I can answer!'_ Sherlock thought.

"Why exactly _did_ you fake your death? You haven't given me a specific answer…" John stared softly at Sherlock, trying not to look accusing or threatening.

"Uh… Um… Ok… Um…" Sherlock spluttered. He didn't know how to say that Moriarty was threatening to _murder_ him if he didn't commit suicide.

"I know it was Moriarty…" John sighed, "but nothing else…"

"Well… Moriarty and I were on the roof of Bart's; he confronted me. He told me that there were snipers aiming at… Lestrade… Mrs Hudson…" A tear fell from his eye, maybe he did need those tissues after all, "and you…"

John stared at him. He couldn't believe that he had come so close to being wiped of the face of the earth. He needed Sherlock to be close to him. He pulled at the detective's shirt to bring him closer. He buried his head in Sherlock's chest.

"This is why I didn't want to tell you…" Sherlock sighed, placing a hand on John's back.

"Thank you," John whispered, "for what you did."

Sherlock knew the night was not going to be easy, but John would recover. It was one of the things he loved about John; he was brave. He had been through hell and came back for more. Sherlock knew John would be ok.

~The End~


End file.
